On
the morning of February 16, 1987 Jonathan Winston sat in the waiting
room of the office of Dr. Warren Judson. For the past four nights,
Jonathan had gotten no sleep. None. He was scared, but he tried to mask
the fear as he filled out the two page form before him. No, he wasn't
experiencing any chest pain, headaches, vomiting, nausea. No, he didn't
have a history of any of the ailments listed. No alcohol issues, no drug
problems. No unusual fatigue. No, no a thousand times no. The form did
not have any questions related to the strange "shudders" he was
experiencing every night nor why, despite having been awake for more
than 100 hours straight, apart from the anxiety, he felt remarkably
well.
Jonathan's regular doctor, Thomas Burns, whom he had seen
for more than a decade, was on vacation that week. Initially, Jonathan
thought he could wait for Burns return to schedule an appointment. But
this was too bizarre, too unnerving.
Warren Judson had been working for Thomas Burns for less
than six months. After finishing up his residency in Chicago, he
returned home to Atlanta, to begin his career. He had never laid eyes
upon Jonathan Winston before he entered the room and saw him, holding
the two page chart in his hands. He noticed that Winston's hands were
shaking, just a little.
"Good morning, Mr. Winston, how are you feeling today?"
What
could Jonathan say. This was not someone who knew him, or could
possibly understand what he was experiencing. "Strange" was all he could
think to utter.
Dr. Judson looked at the form and studied the section
where it asked for present complaints. He seemed puzzled. He pulled the
history of his patient searching for something that clearly wasn't
there.
"Let me have a look at you."
After
taking Jonathan's blood pressure, listening to his heartbeat, having him
take deep breaths and doing all those things that doctors do, he was no
closer to an answer.
Jonathan was certain only that this was just the
beginning. He thought of the next step, the scan of his brain and the
hope that it wouldn't reveal something awful. If he was not sick to his
stomach when he walked in, he was as he walked out. Jonathan's world, as
he had known it for the past 42 years, was about to change. But he had
no idea how much, and for how long.
The next two weeks were an endless cycle of tests and
more tests, appointments layered on top of other appointments. Jonathan
was still not sleeping, yet still invigorated every morning. His nights
were filled with worry and with the realization that what was happening
to him was even more complicated than he had originally feared, The
doctors were not providing any help.
Finally, on March 7, 1987 Jonathan Winston, after more
than 500 hours without sleep and after a battery of tests that would try
the patience of any man, cracked wide open. For the next 48 days he
would reside not in his two bedroom apartment, but in a 12 by 12 room in
a place known as Glen Oaks. It was the oldest psychiatric facility in
Georgia.
The twists and turns of Jonathan Winston's life did not end after his release from Glen Oaks. In many ways, his
truth turned out to be much stranger than fiction.
For
more on Jonathan Winston, read part three in next week's Georgia
Gazette series on "The Life and Very Strange Times of Jonathan Winston."
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